Unravel
by Catalyn
Summary: In a twisted alternate universe, Dean finds himself with a target; Lazarus. And there's only one way to get him. Through the Angels. Too bad he hates all of them for swooping down here and ruining his life as he knew it. Or maybe not all of them- maybe there's a holy exception- Castiel Novak- the sheriff of the lord.


**DISCLAIMER; IF I OWNED THESE CHARACTERS I WOULDN'T BE WRITING A FIC, THESE CHARACTERS BELONG TO THE TV SHOW SUPERNATURAL.**

so this is my first Destiel fic, specially in an AU. I hope you enjoy it.

Reviews are welcome, don't be too harsh but criticism is welcome too.

NOT PROOF READ.

* * *

Dean was beyond pissed off; he hadn't been this angry and frustrated since he realized he'd been dating a nymph back in April.

 _Fucking Crowley_

 _Fucking Hierarchy_

He sat in the booth of the hot and sticky road side diner, willing his thick murky black coffee to cool down so he could have a fucking taste of it. The waitress occasionally swung by his booth by the window though she had no actual reason to- and Dean assumed it was because she thought he was into her type- supernatural beings.

In truth, Dean couldn't stand anything that wasn't earthly or mortal, but he refrained from admitting it. The thing with supernatural beings is that they could take a human down in a fight anytime. He speaks with experience, having knackered an Angel himself once when the idea of attempting to give a stone cold, rock hard being a knuckle sandwich was a good idea. Now, not so much a great idea as before.

 _But still fucking worth it_

Dean remembered the fucking prude's name- the little reserved fucker he'd punched. Gabriel. Even the name sent unpleasant shivers down his worn out back. He remembered Gabriel trying to talk to Sammy- most probably trying to get his little brother jailed for associating a member of the Hierarchy. And what's more, Gabriel was in The Order- the council that decided, much like a game maker decided where his pawns go about, what happens to earth and its inhabitants.

It was a cold rainy day, filled with mud and wet grass with a stray lightning streak- it was the kind of night that you'd ground yourself to the confinements of your room, huddled under the blankets with a hot coffee and a thumping heart. It was Dean's favorite kind of night when they arrived. The bright white staircase lit up every corner of earth and every human's little window. They came down with a chorus of hallelujahs- the army of Heaven- came down in all their glory and claimed earth as theirs. A fleeting second passed of pure confusion till it was over and all chaos broke out. At first the humans were reluctant to accept the situation- the atheists more so. But eventually the humans gave in, they did what they did best- knelt before authority. Not that the armies of earth gave up so easily- but it was hard to win against an arrow that never missed its mark. The surrender happened- the flag white and pure floating up in the sky as the smug supernatural wing clad beings descended from their fortress above- the rulers of the earth. And after that it was all just a blur- after that even the undead were allowed to roam freely- rights of the living and dead according to The Order. It was sickening, really, for young kindred spirited Dean to have to slay any supernatural that came within fifty meters of him and his little tottering toddler of a brother. It was agonizingly painful to have to wake up every day facing another twenty four hours of being treated like scum. Humans were the lowest of the low- the only being who would actually fall for Lucifer's tricks- the only beings would wander over to the dark side unintentionally. And henceforth, Humans were scum- rats. Vermin. The Angels of the Lord called themselves the Hierarchy- the most supreme beings and the intellectual minds- a contrast to what they called the humans which was too foul to even write.

It was raining tonight as well, but the rain drops flew at a hard pace and hit the window pane of the filthy diner with force- angry brutal force. On that night it had been calm- the calm before the storm. Tonight was a part of the merciless storm. The water reflected Dean's wrath- the undying burning pit of hatred. He hated feeling this way too- Dean wasn't one to hate with passion, but the Angel's had hurt his family- his brother- the only one left. And Dean Winchester let no fucking immortal or immortal get away with hurting his baby brother.

Sure Sam might be a good 21 now, but to him he was still the six year old with forming kneecaps and an inability to walk properly.

Steam lifted gently off Dean's coffee as the force of the wind that slipped through the cracking the walls and ceiling puffed away at his black beverage. Angels were never on time- never reliable, they always had some fucking thing to be doing. Always preoccupied. Slowly Dean lifted the steaming mug to her chapped pink lips and sipped, wearily eyeing the waitress who smiled cheekily and waved at the sand y blonde boy. In a weird way Dean was what the mortals called a hunter- a rebel. But in another weird way, he was not. He didn't go looking and searching for shits from the immortal world to slay, like Hunters were supposed to. No, Dean just got rid of what came to him or stood in his way. And now, this incredibly late Angel was standing in his path- blocking his schedule and dooming him with only four hours max to sleep. The human man didn't really know why he had agreed to comply to Crowley, his insufferable boss' favor. But he had.

And now he was waiting for an Angel, the second thing he hated- second to demons and imps.

Yes, the both fell under number 1 in Dean's hit and hate list.

Every Angel Dean had met were up stuck prudes with class a prides and stick up their asses. Except one. The holy exception.

Dean didn't really know the angel's name- but he knew how he would recognize him. He'd never forget the night he socked Gabriel the fucking A and had ended up with a broken wrist. And along with that memory came another Angel. Sam often called that angel Dean's saving grace- but the older Winchester didn't like the idea of an angel being his grace in anything or having anything to do with his life. Though, as Dean quietly admitted only to himself at the dead of night, that angel was his saving grace that night.

The way he pulled the furious Gabriel off of Dean's beaten up and limp body with such force- the way his muscles had rippled with unsaid fury underneath that goddamn trench coat. The way his eyes formed glorious blue slits as he tossed the said abuser to the side and the way oh god the way- he slowly, warily approached the hunter boy who'd been sprawled across the tiled floor of the bar. The way his soft hands caressed Dean's bruised cheek- so soft they felt like they'd never been put to work. And the way his innocence rippled off him in waves that made Dean shudder by it power. And the way he spoke in a language Dean knew o be Enchodian or _someshitlikethat_. Crowley often spoke of the way that language did crazy things to your libido and lust- much like French, apparently.

But most of all, Dean remembered the way the Angel's wings suddenly ripped open and spread, covering the entire expense of the dance floor as soon as he entered the crap bar to see the fuck face Gabriel plummeting Dean with a series of well-aimed punches. Dean remembered how glorious his wings were when the hung there- stiff and rigid at the same time, shaking with anger.

His glorious black wings.

Dean never before had liked wings- in fact; the hunter boy had found them disgusting. Revolting. Anything but appealing. But when he looked at the brown haired saving protector at the Cool Storm Bar that night- everything changed rapidly. Suddenly all Dean wanted to do was gently stroke those million night sky feathers that looked silky satin smooth. The way he had stormed up to the dueling duo, how his wing tips swept across the floor and nocked people off their feet. How his arches were bent in the most gorgeous high slant ever.

Dean shook his head in desperate attempt to forget that angel- whoever he may be. The front door to the diner swung open with a creak and a ring of the little bell situated at the top of the door. The impusa waitress tore her gaze away from Dean as she sauntered to greet and attend to her new customer.

"Welcome to Huddle Hut, how may I help you tonight sugar?" the tone of voice of the impusa suggested that she liked her new customer- a lot.

Dean let a little smile itch on to his face when the impusa babbled on greetings lustfully, dropping sexual innuendos and hints here and there. Atleast her new customer will distract her and keep her away from-

"I'm here for a Dean…Wingchesteir?"

Dean gasped in shock- partly at the redundant way the new guy pronounced his surname and the other part in genuine shock to hear his name being called out.

"Dean, that little bundle of hot skin and bones?" the imupsa chuckled lightly and Dean shuddered.

 _How is that even a fucking compliment?_

"He's over there, yeah, the morose looking one."

The angel had arrived, Dean thought, fina-fucking-ly.

A throat cleared by Dean and his head snapped to face the angel beside him.

Slowly and painfully his breath got stuck in his throat and his mouth went dessert dry at the sight of the gorgeous being standing by his side- beige trench coat flaring out, brown hair slightly damp- not wet or soaked- tie loosely strung around his neck and blue eyes glinting under the dim lighting in the crap diner.

"Dean Wingchestier?"

"Winchester, it's Winchester," Dean managed to say without stammering, "You can sit there."

He gestured over to the seat opposite him and watched the angel sit down gracefully, head cocking to the side as if he were studying and assessing and memorizing Dean.

 _Woah, Dean, this is an angel, and ANGEL. Not a friendly, not family and not – just no!_

"Want to order something? I heard the pie here is quite good," the angel began his small talk.

God dean wanted a pie so bad, to distract him with its heavenly sugary taste. But nevertheless, the hunter shook his head.

"So you're the Sheriff of the Lord?" Dean forced the bitterness to stay hidden and clouded in the depths of his black opal heart, he couldn't screw up this interview- the entire police department would be chewing at his neck if he didn't get permission to have a representative venture up to heaven for some questioning.

This was their biggest case yet and mean everything to them- to Dean. To Sam.

"Yes, I am He, Castiel Novak," said the angel.

The name fit the man before him perfectly- the perfect mix of vintage and elegant and delightfully beautiful. Castiel, Castiel Castiel, if only he could just whip out his wings and confirm Dean's allegations.

"Well, you know what this is about- this is our biggest case yet. We're this close," Dean said, pressed his index finger and his thumb together, "To getting Lazarus, and if we do them we get the big guy too. All we need is a few minutes- I understand that it is impossible to send a human up to earth."

 _No he didn't, but he was sure as hell no human would want to venture to enemy lands anyway._

"So the department is willing to send a supernatural- a imp maybe? A nymph?"

 _As if a nymph would do the fucking job. A bunch of unreliable pricks they are._

"We just need this interview, and I hope you understand Mr. Novak."

"Please, call me Castiel," the angel's harmonious voice rang in Dean's mind and sent shivers of what felt like pleasure down his spine and through his veins, "Are you human, mister Weencheztah?"

"Winchester," Dean sighed, ignoring the pang of pain at the angels question.

He knew he was going to judge the hunter because of his race- he knew but he didn't want him to. He wanted Castiel to be the pure angel, the one that Dean wouldn't mind calling by the first name because it was so tantalizingly wonderful to have this words roll off his tongue and slip through his dry lips.

"But, likewise, call me Dean, and yes, Castiel, I'm a human- I hope that's not too much of a trouble," he said, clucking the hatred and bitter foul attitude well, "After all, we have _got permission_ to conserve."

Dean secretly loved making fun of the way you needed consent before talking to a Hierarchy- not consent of the angel but consent of the order. It was a redundant tradition that made Dean laugh- and Dean didn't laugh unless it was bitterly.

"No, of course not, Dean Winshester," Castiel said, testing out the hunter's name.

Though the Sherriff had got his last name horribly wrong (again), Dean couldn't help the little spark of electricity that flew through his body when his first name effortlessly passed through from the angels holy mouth.

"So I'll give you the detail on how to get there and I expect to see you there at 6:00 sharp," the angel said abruptly, rising to his feet and swiftly escaping the confinements of the booth.

"See me? So you'll let a representative come?" Dean's green forestry eyes lit up in glee.

"No."

Silence prevailed between the two officers and even though the loud chatter in the diner filled the room and the sound of the rain relentlessly hitting every board of the diner filling most of their ears- the silence seemed to overwhelm all.

"No, I will not let any odd representative come up to the holy land. That's preposterous. No, I only let people I know in, and you are the only person I know in the department so you can come. Here's the map and of course- Dean? Are you alright? You look a bit worried," concern washed over all Castiel's glorious features as he watched Dean try to drink up this new information.

He was to go to heaven.

He was to go to the one place he loathed the most, first to even hell.

But for Sam, he told himself.

 _The scrawny bastard better appreciate this._

"Yes, I'm alright."

"Great," Castiel smiled and moved to the door.

Hesitantly, Dean stood up and followed the pure being out to the pouring rain. The sound of cracking bones and joints disjointing sounded and Dean could hear them faintly over the raging noise of the heaven crying. In a flash of lighting the whole city was lit up and Dean saw them.

The two magnificent black arching wings stretch out to the farthest- most definitely the biggest wings he'd ever laid eyes on, each feather with a pattern of its own- and then with a gush of strong forceful wind, the wings and the angel were gone.

It really was him, Castiel was Dean's so called saving grace. His body involuntarily shook and Dean just labeled it as cold. His body shook because it was cold and drenched not because there was a little bundle of hope pooling in his stomach and night heart. How his heart perfectly matched Castiel's wings- so black and dark and full of secrets.

Secrets that would soon be pulled at- each vein and string in each limb and muscles soon to be pulled apart by the seams and to ceremoniously unravel.

* * *

A/N;

HEY, Catalyn here. Thank you for reading, please leave feedback. Love you all and will update soon- I guess. Sorry if there are any typos.

Cat out *disappears with a whoosh sound*


End file.
